


The Night Visitor

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Cats, Cooking, Friendship, Gen, Snow, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29536476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Napoleon and Illya take refuge in a safe house to escape an oncoming blizzard.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	The Night Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the current snow falling here. The third storm we've had in the last two weeks. Mother Nature is making up for lost time.

  
  
Solo and Kuryakin received warning of an impending snow storm and tried to seek shelter in the nearest hotel, but sadly there was, as the saying goes, no room at the inn.

There was also no way they’d make it to New York City before the storm hit.

They were driving in the Impala convertible, but with a cloth roof that would offer them little protection during a severe storm, and the fact that the heater had gone on the fritz wasn’t helping matters at all.

Thanks to Solo’s quick thinking he contacted headquarters and was given the location of an UNCLE safe house located in the vicinity to where they were, just outside Oneonta in upstate New York.

Before heading out to it, they stopped at a local grocer for supplies, but found the shelves almost empty, picked clean by the locals.

Still, they found enough to suit their needs. Napoleon was quite the creative cook and planned to whip up some delicious meals for them, though given the predicted intensity of the storm, they’d probably have to ration what they had until the snow stopped and they could dig out.

They came away with a head of cabbage, a half dozen potatoes, three carrots, some spices, the last loaf of Wonder Bread, a jar of grape jelly, Peter Pan peanut butter, a box of spaghetti, a box of Quaker Oats oatmeal, one carton of eggs, though two were broken, a package of powdered milk, two cans of cream of mushroom soup and a small basket of Macintosh apples, but their prize, the piece de resistance was a piece of smoked pork butt.

There was no other meat to be had, no bacon, sausages, ground beef, chicken...nothing.

“What is with Americans and this peanut butter sandwich,” Illya asked.”It is nothing but mashed peanuts on bread.”

“You lived in England for three years, “Napoleon said.”Did you eat Marmite on toast?”

“Yes but…”

Well I find that as mystifying to me as peanut butter is to you.” Solo cringed at the thought of eating the yeasty, salty, soy sauce-esque flavored goo that had the consistency of old engine oil.

After paying for their groceries the cashier wished them well, telling them they were his last customers as he was locking up and heading home.

“I hope you fellas have someplace safe to stay?”

“Umm, yes. We’re staying at my Uncle’s house, it’s just outside of town,”Napoleon said.

“Oh, is that the old Waverly place? He lets a lotta folks stay there.”

“Yes,”Napoleon smiled.”We have a big family.”

They headed back to the silver convertible, eyeing the ominously darkening sky. Arriving a half hour later at the address given to them by headquarters; they found a solitary house and parked the car in the driveway.

There were no neighbors to worry about, making it an ideal hideout. UNCLE had a way of finding and purchasing such locations to fit their needs. It was interesting that it had been called the old Waverly place. Who knew, the Old Man might have actually purchased the property himself.

“Not bad,” Napoleon’s eyebrows shot up as he eyed the house.

It was a nice looking ranch style with a white picket fence and trees in the front yard. From the outside it had a well cared for, welcoming feel to it. That was a far cry from many of the safe houses they’d stayed in.

Once inside, the cardboard box of groceries Illya carried was deposited on the kitchen table, and after exploring the kitchen they found an unopened can of ‘Chock full o'Nuts’ coffee, as well as tea bags and sugar and a few unopened cans of Campbell’s tomato soup.

Things were looking good for once.

The heat was cranked up in no time and their little house was toasty warm.

Solo removed his suit jacket and hung it up in a small closet off the sitting room where he found a few neatly folded bath towels as well as toiletry supplies.

He took one of the towels, wrapped it around his waist as an apron, tucked his tie inside his shirt and rolling up his sleeves he began to prepare a hearty hot meal.

Illya leaned against the kitchen doorpost watching in amusement as Solo banged and clanged amongst the pots and pans while searching for just the right one.

“Watch and learn from the master,” Napoleon mused.

When finding the pot he needed, he filled it halfway with water, put it on the stove and lit the burner beneath it.

Into the water he tossed some caraway seeds, then proceeded to slice up some of the potatoes and carrots and added those to the water as well. After letting them cook for a bit, he finally added the porkbutt still in its netting, as removing it might make the meat cook unevenly.

The last ingredient to go in was the cabbage that had been cut into wedges. The pot was covered, leaving it all to simmer.

“It’s going to take a while tovarisch, so in the meantime you can have tea and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to stave off your hunger until this is ready. Please, keep in mind that our supplies are limited?”

“Do not be ridiculous Napoleon, I know that. Do you really think I would devour everything in one sitting?”

“Maybe,”Napoleon flashed him a playful wink.

“Just to prove I have self control, I will have only tea.” Illya filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove. He actually didn’t want to eat the peanut butter as he still hadn’t acquired a taste for it.

“Would you like coffee; I can make a pot?”

“Actually no, tea will do just fine.” Illya said.

Soon the place was filled with the smoky scent from the pork as well as the cabbage, making both men’s stomachs rumble just a little.

As safe houses went, this one was above average. The heat worked, the floors were carpeted, there were heavy drapes on all the windows and the furnishings were decent. They each had their own bedroom, with clean linens and plenty of blankets.

There was even a small television in the sitting room, along with a fireplace. Though the heat was on, Illya set about making a crackling fire before he switched on the television.

After adjusting the rabbit ear antenna, he turned the dial to WPIX, just in time for a weather broadcast.

_“Heavy snows with blizzard conditions are predicted and possible accumulations up to three feet or more. Stay inside where it’s warm and safe folks, this is going to be a bad one. We now return you to your local programming.”_

The image of a clown appeared in black and white on screen and the Russian immediately turned off the television in annoyance.

“What are you doing tovarisch? That’s Bozo the clown,” Napoleon chuckled.”

“No thank you, you can amuse yourself with such frivolities if you wish. I found a copy of War and Peace, so I will keep myself occupied with that, possibly long enough to read it in its entirety if we get the predicted snowfall amounts.” In reality, the Russian had read it before, but that mattered little to him.

“What are the odds there’d be a copy of that here?”

“Probably a thousand to…”

“Illya that was rhetorical.” Napoleon peeked through the curtains.”Well the snow’s started, and it’s really coming down.”

Illya stepped up behind him, drawing back the other side of the drapery. “You realize we have no really warm clothing, boots or shovels with which to dig ourselves out when this is over.”

They’d only worn lined trench coats and gloves as they were on their way back from an assignment when they received word of the storm.

“I think we’ll manage with help from the Albany office once they dig themselves out tovarisch; I’m not worried about it.”

“Neither am I. For once we are in a satisfactory location, with heat, food, entertainment, and we each have our own beds. Who could ask for more?” The Russian shrugged.

“A woman to snuggle up with,” Napoleon sighed.

“My friend you will just have to make do with your wishful thoughts until you get back to the city. No doubt your lady friends are pining away at your absence.”

“Ah but you know what they say…’absence makes the heart grow fonder tovarisch.’Just think of the homecoming I’ll have.”

Illya merely sniffed at that remark.

Their meal was finally ready, and the partners sat down at the kitchen table with their mismatched plates and cutlery.

They dug in with relish, though Napoleon watched as Illya ate sparingly. Yes, they had to make the food last and his hungry bear of a Russian was behaving himself.

“Napoleon this is quite delicious. My compliments to you; your cooking skills never disappoint.”

“Why thank you. The leftovers will be part of the makings for our next few meals, or so that’s the plan.” The wheels were always turning in Solo’s head, even when it came to devising their menu.

When they were finished, Napoleon put aside the rest of the pork , as he planned to serve some of it in the morning with scrambled eggs, and toast. I

llya stayed out of his way and did the dishes.

Dicing a bit of the leftover ingredients from dinner, Napoleon put it back into the pot with the remaining water from cooking the pork butt. Adding more water along with a can of mushroom soup, another potato, as well some salt, thyme and oregano; it would be a good tasting soup as the cream and the smokiness from the pork would infuse with everything else.

Soon it was bubbling away. They’d have it tomorrow and the next day. If need be it could be watered down to make it last, or better still the second can of cream of mushroom soup could be added to it.

There were enough bread and eggs to make French toast, and of course plenty of oatmeal. There was the peanut butter and jelly too. He decided he could dice up more of the pork and make a sauce with the cream of mushroom soup and put it on the spaghetti.

Their meals wouldn’t be fancy, but they’d be hot for the most part, and filling.

The wind was starting to howl, revealing a gap beneath the front door and the saddle, which created a nasty draft. Illya rolled up one of the towels in front of it to block it, and that did the trick.

Though he said he was going to read, Kuryakin put aside his book and ended up playing a game of chess with his partner. He lost of course, Napoleon was simply too good at the game as he was the master strategist.

The television was turned back on and Solo searched the channels, eventually finding a movie called ‘Carbine Williams’ starring Jimmy Stewart.

The film followed the life of its namesake, David Marshall Williams, who invented the operating principle for the M1 Carbine while in a North Carolina prison. The M1 was used extensively during World War II. Both Solo and Kuryakin had seen their fair share of that particular weapon.

The partners settled in to watch the film, but neither lasted very long as they started to doze off.

Illya woke with a start as there was a noise at the door. Napoleon heard it too and both men were on their feet in an instant with their guns in their hands.

Wordlessly, right on cue they stepped to either side of the door.

Solo kicked away the towel and nodded, signalling Illya to grab the knob, pulling the door open.

A cold gust of snow filled air hit Napoleon straight in the face. He saw no one...nothing as he aimed his gun, but then something grey darted past his feet.

Illya slammed the door closed, and looked to the floor, as did Solo.

_“Mewwww-ooow.”_

“Oh great a cat!” Napoleon groaned. He looked his partner in the eye, seeing that icy blue-eyed stare of his instantly melt away.

Kuryakin had an affinity for cats.

“Here kitty. Psss psss psss.” Illya called the shivering creature to him. It was cautious at first, eyeing the Russian with suspicion with its big green eyes.

“Are you hungry?” Kuryakin whispered to it. “Come on?”

It followed him into the kitchen, no doubt anticipating being fed.

_“Mur-ooooow,_ ” It wailed, and rather loudly.

“I will find you some food Kaska...the Russian word for puss,” Illya said, but he froze when he called the animal that.

'Kaska', the last time he’d called a cat that was when he was a street orphan...a _bespriorzi_ in Kyiv during the war. 

  


_He’d found a grey cat just like this one and had shared his food with it. Once it knew he could be trusted, Kaska would come and go, bringing with it mice and eventually rats, dropping them at Kuryakin’s feet; an apparent offering to share its bounty with him. At night the cat would snuggle up under the blankets with him to keep warm._

_It gave Illya comfort to have a living thing love him unconditionally, especially since he was only nine years old, and so lonely._

_He’d lost his entire family and was trying to just simply survive. There were times he wondered if Kaska remained with him as a source of food and warmth, rather than love but he chose to think it was the latter._

_As they ventured out from his secret hiding place the cat would act as lookout and warn him when the wild dogs roaming the ruins of the city were approaching._

_Illya remembered that particular Kaska with great fondness, despite the terrible circumstances. She saved his life several times. He never knew what happened to her after he and the other street orphans were taken to the concentration camp by the Nazis.*_

  


Illya shook himself of his memories as he looked through the cabinets again, this time discovering several cans of cat food on an upper shelf.

“Ahhh, that is why you came. Someone has fed you here before, I think. And so you will eat, be warm and stay out of the storm with us enh little puss?”

As soon as he said that the cat began to purr loudly. She hopped on the countertop as he spooned some of the food to a plate.

“ _Nyet, Kaska_. On the floor please.”

She jumped down, following the plate to where Illya put it.

The cat looked well fed enough and must have been eating elsewhere as no one had used this safe house for a while, but still it was obvious that she’d been outside for some time. Her fur, once dried, was rough and she had the look of a stray about her.

Regardless, she’d be warm and fed here, and when he and Napoleon left, she’d be given her freedom...or perhaps he might take her with them and find her a permanent home?

He put the remainder of the food in the fridge and searched for something to use as a cat litter. He supposed he could shred some of the old newspapers that were in the sitting room.

In a cabinet beneath the sink of a small bathroom off the kitchen, he found just what he needed, a plastic foot tub. Behind the toilet was a large paper sack, and in it another surprise…cat litter. That sealed the fact that his cat had definitely been here before...

Illya readied it and just as he finished setting up the box, the cat appeared and promptly used it.

“Good, you do know where it is. _Kaska,_ now I am going to bed. Make yourself at home and sleep well.” He gave her a little scratch on the head.

  


Napoleon was looking out the living room window again when Illya returned.

“All settled with the beast?”

“Yes, apparently the cat has visited here before as there were a few cans of cat food tucked on the uppermost shelf and a bag of litter put aside in the back loo.”

“Oh goody,” Napoleon showed his indifference. “The storm’s getting worse.”

Just then the lights flickered.

“Peachy. The first time we’re in a nice safe house and... well let’s hope the power doesn’t go because if it does,”

“...the heat will not go on,” Illya finished the sentence. “Yes I checked, we have electric heat.”

“Best we keep the fire going just in case,” Napoleon suggested.” Take turns sleeping here?”

Illya shrugged. What did it matter if there was no heat? They had plenty of blankets and would be warm enough. He threw a few large pieces of wood on the fire, as there was an ample supply piled on the floor next to the fireplace. This would last through the night, and the supply would last for days.

“I am going to bed.” Before doing so, Kuryakin turned up the thermostat. “I will be leaving my door open, as the heat from the fireplace will help if the power does go off.”

“Good idea. I’m going to stay here for now and watch the news, see what they’re saying about the storm.”

The Jimmy Stewart movie was long over, and there was little else of interest that Solo wanted to watch as the three channels available...CBS.NBC and ABC.

Illya disappeared into his room, where he stripped down to his underwear, but not before hanging up his clothing in the closet. He climbed into the bed, fluffing up the layers of soft blankets, and feather pillow before tucking his Special beneath it. 

Napoleon continued to watch television, with the news giving dire reports of the blizzard, calling it a catastrophic event. It was affecting the east coast all the way up from Maryland to New York state and parts of New England.

Everything had been brought to a standstill.

He pulled his communicator just to check in with headquarters but was told Mr. Waverly was in guest quarters and had left instructions not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency.

Instead Napoleon chatted with Valerie in Communications. She’d been snowed in with the rest of the staff who’d volunteered to stay. She and Napoleon were supposed to have a date this weekend but it was obvious now that wasn’t going to happen.

Lacking a bedmate for most likely the next few evenings, Napoleon engaged in some playful flirtation. It was kept clean as communications were often monitored by Security.

His attention was momentarily diverted as the grey cat appeared, eyeing him as it strolled warily in front of him, heading straight into the Russian’s room.

Solo held his breath, waiting for a gunshot as surely Illya would shoot if the cat jumped on him, thinking he was being attacked.

“Listen Valerie, I have to go.”

“Oh, Napoleon,” she sighed.”I was really looking forward to getting together.”

“Trust me honey, so was I. In the meantime stay warm without me. Solo out.”

He waited, but nothing happened in Kuryakin’s room, and finally Napoleon rose from the sofa to peek in on his sleeping partner.

There was the cat perched on Illya’s chest, curled up in a ball, having apparently settled in for the night.

“Will you look at that?” Napoleon thought to himself with amusement.

He went back to the sitting room and turned off the television, staring at the fire for a moment before retiring to his own bed.

The next morning when Solo awoke, the house was still nice and warm, which meant the power stayed on during the night. He got up out of bed, keeping one of his blankets wrapped around himself and looked out the window.

“Oh boy,” he mumbled. The snow was still coming down, and had already drifted high enough to cover the lower part of the window, that he estimated to be over three feet.

He dressed, leaving his shirt and suit jacket in the closet, as well as his tie; no need to be formal here, his undershirt would do along with his trousers and socks.

By passing Illya’s room, Napoleon went straight to the bathroom, then off to the kitchen to make some coffee and breakfast.

He took some of the pork from the fridge, chopped it up, along with some potatoes. He made hash browns. While that was cooking he measured coffee, put it into the percolator and boiled water in the kettle for tea.

He put another pot on the stove and made some nice warming oatmeal, dicing up a couple of apples to put in it. He made a cup of powdered milk as well, adding just a touch of sugar to improve the flavor. The last thing he did was scramble up a couple of eggs.

Napoleon suddenly realized the aroma of the food filled the little house, but there was no sign of Illya. That was odd.

As he walked into the sitting room, he turned on the television, but heard his partner’s voice calling him.

“Napoleon, I need some help here if you please?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just come here.”

Solo dashed into Illya’s room, only to find his partner pinned down in bed because there was the cat on his chest...along with six little kittens.

“My goodness, tovarisch,” Napoleon chuckled.” What have you been up to?”

It took Kuryakin a second to realize what his partner was intimating. “Do not be ridiculous! Now would you go to the kitchen and get the cardboard box from the grocer and put one of the towels in it please and bring it back here?”

Napoleon did as requested and returned with the box. One by one he and Illya picked up the kittens and put them in it, once done, Solo put the box on the floor. Mother cat jumped down and joined her babies with a happy chirp.

Illya got up, removing the soiled blanket from the bed, and quickly dressed himself.

“Amazing,” Napoleon grinned.”You’ll wake at the drop of a pin while on assignment but a cat can get into bed with you, lay on top of you and give birth to six kittens without you waking up.”

“What can I say?” Illya shrugged. “Cats and I are simpatichnyy,” he said in Russian.

“Well come on Mr. Sympatico, breakfast is getting cold.”

Another news bulletin flashed on the television screen warning people to shelter in place for the duration of the storm. It looked like they were in for at least another twenty-four to forty-eight hours of precipitation as the storm had stalled.

“Oh great,” Napoleon mumbled. He’d walked out to the sitting room with his breakfast plate and coffee to sit and watch the news.

“We need to take stock of our supplies,” he called to Illya who was eating in the kitchen.

There were six apples, three potatoes, the large pot of soup, eight eggs, oatmeal, the loaf of bread, and the peanut butter and jelly, and the Spaghetti. There was plenty of coffee and tea, plus the powdered milk.

“Napoleon we are fine.Trust me I have done with much less and survived, though I would prefer not to go hungry. The oatmeal alone would cover us for days, if that were all we had, but we do not, so we are in good shape.”

Solo was aware that there were several occasions in which his Russian partner had nearly starved to death; that was something the American had never experienced and hoped he never would. Illya’s reassurance about their food helped.

After cleaning up the breakfast dishes, it was the least Illya could do for Napoleon having cooked; he brought out a plate with some cat food for Kaska. He gave her a few scratches after greeting her, and she rubbed his hand with her whiskers before she popped out of the box to eat.

She didn’t need any coaxing at all, and while she was eating Illya checked each kitten and found them all alive and well. There were two black, one calico, two grey, and one completely white...quite a mixed bag of colors.

“I think you have been busy with a few Tom cats, Puss?”

Though he was tempted to carry the box to the sitting room, he knew it was best to leave the little brood and their mother to bond, and feed in peace. Kaska would visit him if she wished.

That peace was suddenly disturbed by a loud rumble and crack from outside.

“What the devil was that?”Napoleon called.”It sounded like thunder?”

“That is what is known as thundersnow, my friend. It is a very rare occurrence. A unique thing about thundersnow is that the snowfall acts as an acoustic suppressor of the thunder. The thunder from a typical thunderstorm can be heard many miles away, while the thunder from thundersnow can usually only be heard within a two to three mile radius from the lightning.”

“Tovarisch, I swear you are a walking encyclopedia.’

Illya flashed a shy smile. “My friend, you cook and that is one of your many gifts, me, I read and remember, though this is not my first experience with thundersnow.”

“That’s right, that eidetic memory of yours. It’s come in handy over the years hasn’t it?”

“As has your cooking. Now, would you care for a game of chess?”

“Would you believe I’d like to just lay down and take a nap. I can’t remember ever having time off where there was pretty much nothing to do but be lazy.”

Illya nodded his agreement. “Yes even when taking a vacation, we both have activities planned, do we not?”

Napoleon disappeared into his bedroom, and Illya curled up on the sofa, reading War and Peace. It really was the ultimate in laziness for the both of them.

It wasn’t long before Kuryakin dozed off as well.

When he woke, he felt a weight on his chest and when he raised his head he discovered that Kaska had apparently felt the need to move the kittens on top of him. He thought of calling Napoleon, but then why bother?

Illya went back to sleep to the purring of the cat.

Two days later it had stopped snowing and they were rescued by a snow plow and a deuce and a half truck. A team of agents from Albany helped dig out Solo and Kuryakin, and their truck led the way as Illya drove their car to the interstate.

They left the non-perishable food supplies; the soup had been consumed as had been the eggs and potatoes. The only thing left was some bread and a few apples.

Napoleon made some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for their rescuers, gave them the apples, along with hot coffee, which they gratefully accepted.

Kuryakin insisted upon bringing the cat and the kittens with them, and they were bundled up in extra towels and kept inside the box.

Five hours later Napoleon and Illya finally walked into Del Floria’s, with Kuryakin still carrying his precious cargo in the cardboard box.

After pinning Napoleon’s ID badge to his lapel, Heather McNabb handed Illya’s his, as usual.

“What’s in the box?” She asked.

“A cat and her kittens.” He lifted the towel to show her. “They were rescued during the storm.”

“Oh look at them, they’re so tiny! What are you going to do with them?”

“Find them homes when they are ready.”

“Oh you can put me down for one of the black ones! I just love black cats.”

“Thank you Heather, that is good news.”

By the time they made it to their office, all the kittens and the mother cat were spoken for. They made a big hit at headquarters.

Napoleon milked it for all it was worth, managing to get a few dates out of the ladies who volunteered to adopt the kittens. Illya let him have his fifteen seconds of fame, as he saw no harm in it.

Everyone enjoyed the story of the kittens being born on top of Kuryakin, with the end result being quite a few women trying to flirt their way into dates with a man who could be so kind to a cat and her babies.

Wanda volunteered to take Kaska and her offspring home for now, as it would be too difficult for Illya to do so, being away on assignments so often.

Napoleon and Illya finally made it to their office, cat free, where they had packed suitcases ready and waiting for last minute travel. That gave them each a change of fresh clothing, with sport jackets, polo shirts, trousers, socks and underwear. Their suits and shirts were sent out to Del Floria to be cleaned and pressed.

“So all’s well that ends well tovarisch,” Napoleon pulled out his little black book, thumbing through it.

“What are you doing? I thought you had a date lined up with Valerie in Communications?”

“I did but she was exhausted from helping to hold down the fort here, and she went home. We have to reschedule.”

“And so?”

“So I’m still in the mood, if you know what I mean,” Napoleon smiled.

“Too much information my friend. You do what you must,” Illya waved him off as he headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“The Commissary. They are serving lasagna,”Illya smiled,

”and I do like Italian food.” He made a yummy sound.

“Illya?”

“Yes Napoleon?”

“Too much information,” Solo grinned.

“Very funny. Enjoy your date,” Kuryakin disappeared through the pneumatic doors as they opened.

“Hmmm, maybe dates?” Napoleon flicked his eyebrows with a smile. “Perhaps the Bumsen twins?”* After all, he had to make up for some lost time...

* ref to “Beginnings” on Fanfiction.net under MLaw

**ref to Snapshots chapter 158- “Double your pleasure” on Fanfiction.net under MLaw


End file.
